Friday, April 27, 2012

Hamish Guthrie: Christmas


The jets’ rush starts this miracle: we fly,
lift-off of a hundred tons,
so many we could be a little town,
cradled in aluminum.

We eat peanuts in the sky.
We fall asleep
between the earth and moon.

We drop at night like angels
into Minneapolis, that lies
like a million scattered
candles in the snow.

from Undercurrents: New Voices in Canadian Poetry
Ed. Robyn Sarah (Cormorant Books, 2011)

supplementary material for a review soon to appear in The Rover.

No comments: